


Wherein Shawn Spencer and Nicholas Fury Exchanges Words, Burton Guster Is Long-suffering, and SHIELD Begins Giving Out Antacids Like Candy

by deltacrow



Series: How Tony Stark and Shawn Spencer Are a Volatile And Highly Dangerous Duo, Not To Mention a Threat to National Security (Should They Choose To Be), And Somehow Are Friends. [4]
Category: Psych, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: (I haven't even seen the matrix whoops), (i actually cannot believe i just said that), I mean spoiler shawn sort of gets kidnapped I guess but not really, SHIELDs so wonk man, Shawn meets Fury, clint's a dweeb, copious matrix references, headcanon: Fury's married, including who to eat if he needs to, joking mentions of cannibalism, phil coulson has plans for everything, there might be triggers for that?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-13
Updated: 2014-06-13
Packaged: 2018-01-24 14:02:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1607750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deltacrow/pseuds/deltacrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"Eyes on me, Mr. Spencer,”</i> the Matrix pirate commands.</p><p>“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid that I cannot lay eyes on your visage,” Shawn replies, again proving that he should never be let out in public, <i>do not repeat that to his dad, he’d look so smug about it,</i> “should I want to continue living my idyllic machine-made fantasy.”</p><p>This, I think, will have actual chapters. It will also update sporadically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Shawn and the Fury

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RoseOZhrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseOZhrin/gifts).



> I'd like to thank RoseOZhrin for their comment on the first part of this series, as I had this in my documents and decided, at their gentle nudge, release this into the wild prematurely. Hopefully it grows into a wild, savage beast far beyond my control.

Shawn wakes up disoriented and in a room full of metal hexagons. Admittedly, this was not as bad as other kidnappings, as he is unchained and alone. What he can glean from the room is pathetic, to say the least, as he's unable to find an exit, nor can he hear anything from the outside. The only thing that this tells him is that someone-- Tony, perhaps, or someone on Tony's level (which consists of maybe three and a quarter people throughout time and whose rumors regarding their deaths have only been exaggerated insomuch that they did not _actually_ die that _particular_ way) built this room, so it must be very expensive, ergo it belongs to some fantastically rich person/ organization. Or the government, but that’s not likely.

So he is not _actually_ surprised when a sour-faced woman in an immaculately pressed suit comes within a heartbeat or two to stand, hands clasped behind her, in front of him.

He _is,_ however, surprised when she introduces herself as an agent of SHIELD. He has never heard of such a private security company, and when he tells her as much, he’s a little more surprised when she tells him, an icy smile on her face, that they are very much a part of the US government, thank you very much, Mr. Spencer.

“How did you even afford all this, anyway?” He’s not above whining when his deductions are wrong. “We’re, like, a trillion dollars in the hole and you spent cash on this? Wait--” and here it comes, one thought powers through to the other, “I’m not in GitMo, am I? This isn’t where you start _Marathon Man-_ ing me into submission, because let me tell you, that movie is terrifying and I will say anything to get you to not--”

“Relax, Mr. Spenser.”

“That’s what you’d want me to do--”

“She said _relax,_ Mr. Spencer,” a new voice growls. “Agent, get the fuck out of here.”

“But sir--”

Shawn is Understandably Confused. He’s also frightened, with a small, loud voice in his head making Matrix references, because there is a man wearing a black coat and an eyepatch in front of him, what else is he supposed to do? It’s a shame, too, because that voice is the equivalent of Fox News to his brain’s political party system, complete with an obscenely dumb Rush Limbaugh impersonation that is _making Matrix jokes about the scary man in the eyepatch._

“ _Eyes on me,_ Mr. Spencer, _”_ the Matrix pirate commands.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid that I cannot lay eyes on your visage,” Shawn replies, again proving that he should never be let out in public, _do not repeat that to his dad, he’d look so smug about it,_ “should I want to continue living my idyllic machine-made fantasy.”

“I’d hardly call this world idyllic, Mr. Spencer,” he drawls, before settling into the chair in front of Shawn and staring into Shawn’s soul with his one eye. “But SHIELD tries to keep most of that from coming to the forefront.”

“Again, people keep referencing this shield thing and I swear I can hear the air quotes and capitalization but I cannot, for the life of me, figure out what it stands for.”

“We,” he begins, “are the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division.”

“That’s a--”

“Mouthful, we know,” he sighs, then straightens in his seat. 

“I was gonna say ‘that’s actually pretty cool’, but I mean, that works too.”

He didn’t even look like he was slouching until his spine straightened out, the bastard. Shawn needs to learn that trick so he can be both comfy and professional-- Gus tells him that professionalism is very, very important; then again, Gus was also the one who didn’t think the agency would pan out! What a burnt crumb cake.

“Are you quite done monologuing, Mr. Spencer?”

Shawn mentally scrambles, and tries to keep his face blank. Going by the look on Maritime-Steampunk, he does a passable job, and that cheers him some-- the broad grin breaks on to his face before he can help it. “Oh, hey, I didn’t catch your name! Considering you know my name and presumably everything down to the patterns of my sock drawer, what’s yours?”

“I am Director Fury, and I do, in fact, have it on good authority that the color names spell out lines from _Blade Runner.”_

“That’s-- That’s creepy, actually, I was joking around.”

“So was I, Mr. Spencer.” Fury folds his hands before launching into what is, indubitably, some sort of sales pitch. A well-oiled pitch, if the inflections of his voice can so perfectly fit the words that Shawn only half-listens to. Outside of the eyepatch and coat-- _there’s scarring that peeks out from the eyepatch, not flaking in the cold,_ either a masterful display of stage makeup or a real injury; _coat and presumably eyepatch chosen for intimidation_ \-- Fury’s interesting.

 _Scarring on fingers and hands_ suggest a proficiency with weapons and improvisation with weaponry, _the coat is form-fitting around the arms and shoulders_ \-- is he naturally that cut? Good God-- _hardly noticeable bulge under his collar,_ not placed well enough for a mic, _but a dull silver glint of a chain?_ _Not taken off for cleaning often, bulge is flat and circular, maybe a little larger than Fury's ring_ \-- oh, married, not talked about. Perhaps it's a secret? Figures. Stance also suggests military background; gait and height suggested forties, subtract a few years for stress. Early to mid thirties.

Feel in confident in his deductions, Shawn catches the tail end of this train wreck. "Welcome back," Fury says stiffly. "Figured you wouldn't listen to shit if you could help it."

Shawn knows that this is not the most confidential thing Fury could ask for. There was that thing in Milwaukee that got the FBI involved, and the thing in San Francisco followed him all the way to Connecticut. That was deliciously shady, and was also a threat to national security. "See, if a married man in his thirties knows this, I figure I should cut my losses now at Psych. I don't listen to anything stupid, the case is solved! Everyone can go home now." Shawn leans in conspiritally over the table. "Please tell me you're a fan of ten gallon hats. I can't see a tan line, but it would make my day."

Fury mimics Shawn and murmurs, "only when you were in short pants, kid."

Fury then stands, abruptly, and kicks his chair back. It tips over and smacks the floor as Shawn splutters at his back, "But-- you're my age! Ish! If I was in short pants-- oh my _god_ ," he mutters, rubbing his face, "there's baby pictures."


	2. The Devil Wears Purple (but a good suit is also acceptable)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shawn meets Clint Barton and they have words, before Coulson shows up and the three share words.

Shawn has located the security camera."Someone could let me out here!" Hollering has gotten him nowhere quickly, but gesturing childishly at the camera is cathartic, at the very least. He's flipped of the camera three times and signed for the viewer to kindly drink a glass of horse urine and light themselves on fire within the last half hour. (He's been kidnapped and being detained alone. He's allowed to act like a child.)

Finally, the door hisses open and a short man stumbles into his holding cell, clutching his abdomen. "You gave Woo a heart attack, oh my _God_." He takes a few moments to let out a few more chuckles and take a few deep breaths before straightening out and sticking out his hand. "Clint Barton. You're my new favorite detainee."

Shawn grips his _calloused, scarred_ hand and smiles. "You're my new favorite jailer! Say, does everyone do archery, or are you the only circus brat here?"

"No, but most people aren't even half as perceptive here!" Clint grins brightly. This must all be so amusing to him, and somehow this doesn't bother Shawn. "What tipped you off?"

"Well. I could say the spirits told me--"

Clint folded his arms and leaned into the door, interjecting "and I could just not believe you and threaten torture--"

"--wait, what the hell? Oh, yes, right, agent of Shadow Force." Way to be a spoilsport. See if Shawn sends _you_ any Christmas cards. "Right! Well." Shawn has no death wish, and besides. Clint seems cool. So he begins his deductions, pointing to pieces of Clint as he goes. "No sleeves, looks like you need to never constrict shoulder movement, plus really well defined shoulders-- they're actually _amazing,_ I really just want to poke them or something; callousness on the-- the ridge thing below your fingers, on the palm _there,_ and on the little fold-y part of your fingers on your left hand. Yes, good, look at your hands, look at them and _own them_ , you ferocious beast." Clint laughs, and it’s kind of bubbly and awesome. "Right. I worked at a range in Ohio for a while and we had some hardcore Legolases. Legolii? Whatever. But I know it when I see it." He shrugs. "Also, I've seen your face on a few posters when I was in Wyoming for a-- yeah. So. Circus."

Clint whistles. "Dude, I still have _posters_?"

"Not really. I've only seen them on like community bulletin boards. They're really purple though."

"Oh my _fuck,_ " Club wheezes, "Nat's either going to love you or shank you." He claps his hands, like Christmas has come early, just for him. "I can't wait. Say, are you hungry? Doesn't matter." Shawn is being tugged along by the wrist, feeling distinctly like he's six again. "Let's blow this popsicle stand."

\---

Blowing that popsicle stand is actually easier than it should have been, considering Shawn is being herded towards what he presumes to be a cafeteria. It might have been because of the unassuming suit that joined them halfway through: he was utterly forgettable, physically, which sounded klaxons in Shawn's head. _Shawn cannot get a read off him and that should be impossible._

"You're not going to get a bead off me, Mr. Spencer," he tells Shawn.

"I resent that, gummy bear," Shawn replies. "You're actively stoppering my mojo. Rude."

Unforgettably Forgettable turns to Clint and replies, "you're right, Natasha would either want to pet his head or shoot him in the throat." He stops and muses aloud, "y'know, that's not even the worst first reaction she's had." Apparently satisfied, he tells Shawn that he should feel lucky.

"Almost honored," Clint adds.

Shawn's not sure he wants to meet Natasha, but this feeling combats with the clawing feeling in his stomach. God, he might shoot a man for a pack of airline peanuts.

He decides that fair warning is appropriate for such a mighty hunger. "I could shoot a man for a pack of airline peanuts. I'd grimace as I ate them, but I'd do it." Shawn makes a face, and clarifies: "Eat the peanuts, I mean, but cannibalism could happen in a pinch."

"I'd suggest alternating between Accounting and Legal," the suit says. "They sit the most and have the least training."

"That's sort of a moot point here," Clint points out.

"Fair."

"--you do realize you're suggesting that I eat your coworkers?"

"Fully. Please leave Agent May alone, though; she's retired Ops. If you go for the two HR agents named Smith, though, she might overlook it."

 _What am I doing here,_ Shawn wonders. He stomps on that thought with the force of a thousand fretting Gusters and asks instead, "who are you, so versed in the ways of this organization and its petty squabbles?"

"Agent Coulson," the suit replies, just as Clint jumps in with "there is _nothing_ petty about May vs. Smith squared!"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun with these idiots, you all have no idea. Because Phil would totally make jokes about crazy things like eating your coworkers and make it sound like he's being completely serious.
> 
> ...I hope everyone got the joking vibe off of him. If not I really have to reconsider my life choices and friend choices, because most of my friends and I share the same sense of macabre humour. Please tell me if I need to clarify that these dweebs were joking.


	3. Lions and Spiders and Gus, Oh My

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay.  
> This Week: Natasha is finally introduced, Shawn references shenanigans past, and Shawn remembers that he had a life outside of being kidnapped by SHIELD

The first thing Shawn thinks of when he finally notices the red-head on the outskirts of their party is that she's really pretty.

The next is that she should be dead. He voices this opinion like how some people hoard Allen wrenches: unsure of why then need to, and couching opinions between detritus and unnecessary chatter. "Shouldn't you be dead?"

She looks amused by this, and simply replies "yes." She also raises an eyebrow, silently asking shouldn't you?

He acquiesces. "Point."

“That thing you did in LA? Took forever to clean up,” Natasha states. Shawn swallows his SHIELD-issued cafeteria fajita slowly, because _nobody_ was supposed to _know_ that was _him_. She plows through his (and Phil’s) astonishment and continues a with backhanded praise about his use of lions, a roll of electrical tape, and that _particular_ shot. Phil just wants to know where the lions came from, and if they were part of the plan in the first place. (He knew a guy, and yes. Yes, they were. Who else would watch the hostages? Not Shawn, that’s for sure; he’d probably spill sensitive information over a well-played poker game. Worse, he’d start the poker game, because wow, hostage situations, those are super boring.)

When he turns to Phil and animatedly starts his story about the lions, Natasha reaches across the table to pat his head. Clint and Phil exchange a dorky handshake, and the exasperated Chinese fellow slides a pile of bills across the table to Phil.

“You were betting on my continued existence after meeting up with Natasha?”

Phil shrugs as he pockets the cash in the top pocket of his suit. “What else is there to bet on?”

Shawn turns back to Natasha. “I don’t know if he’s complimenting my charm or commenting on my lack of tact,” he complains.

“It’s probably both. How are you with a gun?”

“Good. A little rusty.” Her grin is feral, and he is dragged by his collar, literally, to where he presumes is a range. (It's a range and a gym, and Natasha wants to see how long he can stay up after shooting a few targets. The answer is not very long at all.)

\---

“Wait a minute. You guys actually _found Captain America?_ ”

Natasha furrows her brow and drums her fingers against the meat of her thigh. This, on anyone else, would look like she was mildly irritated, but Shawn had just seen her bring a man twice her size down to the mat with those thighs while wearing the same expression. She also had a hand, that hand, specifically, tied behind her back, and another two people had passed out almost immediately after, not to mention she's built like a dancer and eats like a hobbit-- this is her second lunch. She has a plastic fork, and she is wielding it against her salad with precision expected of a surgeon. This person was not to be trifled with, Gus would say, but she gave Shawn one of her pilfered cookies--

Oh. Oh, hell, Gus.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," she admonishes.

He obliges, swallowing his next mouthful of cookie before switching gears to Guster. “Do you have a phone somewhere that I could borrow?”

“Technically, you are a detainee, and cannot have contact with the outside world,” she explained. “But considering you’re out and about, and Fury hasn't gone looking for you, I’m sure I could make something work.” She waggles her eyebrows and grins, softer this time, as she plucks a cellphone out of a trainee’s back pocket while she throws away her chicken salad container. He doesn't even notice. “You have a hot date that you’re missing out on?”

“Nah. Gus gets panicky if I go off-grid for a day or two without forewarning. I think the whole Tony/Afghanistan debacle made him twitchy.” He accepts the phone, and begins punching the area code for Santa Barbara. Because the hulking agent still owns a _flip phone_ , jumping Jehoshaphat, this is older than Shawn’s ironic love of peanut brittle. “But no, seriously? You found _Captain America_?”

“Well, yes,” she replies. “I just took his phone for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week:  
> Burton Guster finally is introduced and finally becomes long-suffering. Stealing Steve's dinosaur phone may have been a bad idea, and Shawn may or may not finally meet Cap. (His musculature is less impressive than Shawn was lead to believe; thanks, Rob Liefeld.)


	4. Oh My Starks and Rogers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shawn meets Cap and forgets his name, and before then, Burton Guster appears briefly.
> 
> need to italic things brb httyd tonight and stuff

“Ah-ha, Hi, Gus-tastic; I seem to be in a bit of a conundrum--”

“ _Shawn, what the hell are you doing, calling me from a New York number?_ ”

“Oh, hey, cool! Natasha, am I being held in New York?”

Natasha squirrels emotion away into her cheek-pouches and deadpans, “greatest city on Earth, komrade,” as Gus splutters, “ _being_ held?” into his phone.

Shawn wishes that Gus was not quite so good at overhearing all of Shawn’s faults. “So, a shadowy organization kidnapped me, sort of-- I’ve only been conscious for a few hours, maybe-- but I don’t know when they got to me or what they want, mostly because they interrogated me for a little bit and then just, like, forgot about me or let me roam or whatever. Can you pick me up?”

“ _This is my life now. Oh my God, Shawn, this is my life now-- I am a pharmaceutical salesman, why are you calling me for a Ride of Shame away from the government?_ ”

“Well, if you’re gonna be that way, Fabi-oh-no-you-didn't, then I’ll just ask Clint. We’re bros!”

“ _Shawn_.” Static sighs over the line, and then the call drops abruptly.

“Well. Uhm,” Shawn says into the phone. He pulls it away, and not only is there a message indicating that the phone’s lost coverage-- and here it is, this is Captain America’s phone, this is just sinking in-- there’s also an icon indicating that he has a new text message. Steve, not Shawn, but-- semantics. Also, Shawn’s nosier than a tengu, and he has it on good authority that tengus have rather large noses.

 _Rogers,_ it reads, _the hell are you doing calling Gus? He’s a pharmaceutical salesman._

The “from” line reads “Anthony Stark-- Iron Man”. Oh, sweet, he can call Tony for a ride! (It's also super creepy and invasive that Tony know this and has alerts on who Captain America calls, but Shawn's choosing to either believe that he just has Gus' number flagged or to ignore it entirely.)

 _Chillax, Hot Rod,_ he types painstakingly, _Cyclops McMatrix kidnapped me. It’s Shawn. Can I have a ride?_

Another text pings. _What the fuck have you gotten yourself into,_ it reads. Another one pops up half a second later. _Also his phone hurts me, pocket it and run so i can upgrade it._

Shawn smirks and is about to type _will do_ when a large hand covers the screen. Shawn is about to whine, when he looks up.

And keeps looking, because _Jesus_ , this man is huge. His fucking chiseled jaw is set in a frown, and he relieves Shawn of the phone in his hands, and flips through his sent texts.

“Your descriptions could use some work,” he says finally. “How do you know Stark?”

“I thought you’d be taller. Maybe have broader shoulders.” He pauses, before shrugging, what the hell, and plows on. “Not that your shoulders aren't fabulous, because holy Jesus, they are; but you had some really, _really_ shitty artists in the ‘90s.”

He buries his face in his hands. “I _know_ ,” he replies miserably. “How do you even draw pecs that large? His chest would be larger than _I_  am.” He chokes on a giggle (or maybe he just chokes). "I could curl up and  _die_ in the space his chest takes up."

“I've taken to photoshopping kittens on it. It’s the only thing that makes it better.”

“That sounds fantastic. Can you explain Photoshop?”

Shawn stares at the good captain, agape. “How has nobody told you about Adobe Photoshop?”

“Well, when you drive a plane into the Arctic before anyone in this room was born, people tend to think you’re a fucking moron.”

“Preach,” Shawn commiserates. “Same thing happens with kids and adults. Also, Tony wants your phone to play with later, because it hurts him to look at.”

“So-- wait, how _do_ you know Stark?”

Shawn smiles, guilelessly, and links his arm with Captain America’s. “Poor life choices,” he replies, steering the blond out of the cafeteria. Poor Cap doesn't even know how bad of an idea this is.

“Par for course, I suppose,” Cap relents. Shawn will tell the story when Cap stops calling Tony “Stark”.

...Also, when Shawn remembers his name. That’d be helpful.


End file.
